


Do You Wanna Know (or, dude, I'm not having sex with your little sister)

by the_misfortune_teller



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Future Fic, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Misunderstandings, Post Season 3a/3b
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 19:03:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_misfortune_teller/pseuds/the_misfortune_teller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Stiles isn’t quite sure how he ended up here. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <i>One minute he was rushing through the apartment, laughing like an idiot having snatched Cora’s cell phone and telling her that he was going to read her text messages, and now she’s digging her fingers into his hips as she stands on tip toe to kiss him.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>It feels a little weird, if he’s honest. </i></p><div class="center">
  <p> </p>
  <p>    <b>~</b><br/></p>
</div>Or, the one where Derek makes all kinds of wildly incorrect assumptions.
            </blockquote>





	Do You Wanna Know (or, dude, I'm not having sex with your little sister)

Derek wedges his hands in his jacket pockets, fiddling with his keys as he slowly climbs the stairs and wonders why Stiles’ Jeep is parked up outside the apartment building for the third time this week. Stiles seems to have taken to hanging out in he and Cora’s new apartment a lot since they came back from New York; he’s aware that Cora and Stiles are friends now, but it doesn’t make having Stiles in his home any easier to deal with. It means he has to think about Stiles far more often than he feels is right, has to deal with Stiles’ scent covering the couch, with Stiles’ stuff lying around the place because he’s terrible at remembering to take his crap home with him.

He immediately notices that the door to the apartment is ajar when he reaches the final flight of stairs and sighs in exasperation at the sight of it. He’s willing to put good money on it being Stiles who has left the door open again and grabs hold of the handle, intending to throw the door open to make a point; it won’t scare Cora but it’ll be worth it to watch Stiles jump.

Only as he curls his fingers around the door handle and glances through the gap, it seems like he’ll be catching Cora unawares as well, because right now, she’s otherwise engaged.

Kissing Stiles.

:::

Stiles isn’t quite sure how he ended up here.

One minute he was rushing through the apartment, laughing like an idiot having snatched Cora’s cell phone and telling her that he was going to read her text messages, and now she’s digging her fingers into his hips as she stands on tip toe to kiss him.

It feels a little weird, if he’s honest.

He moves his hand tentatively as Cora whimpers into his mouth, tangling his fingers in her hair and pulling her closer. She slips her hands under the hem of his shirt in response, her warm hands pressing against the small of his back and Stiles takes that as encouragement to duck his head and press a kiss below her ear.

Only he ends up with a mouthful of hair instead and hastily pushes it aside before lowering his head, his bottom lip catching slightly as he kisses her neck, feeling his stomach flip over as she softly whispers his name.

:::

Derek is annoyed to see the Jeep still parked up outside the building when he gets back and kicks the tire in frustration as he walks past it.

It doesn’t really make him feel any better.

The door’s shut when he gets up to his apartment this time, and he pauses outside for a minute, listening out for the sound of voices and feeling his stomach drop when he doesn’t hear them. It dawns on him that if he can’t hear them talking, they’re probably doing something else, something that’s keeping Stiles quiet and he’s really not sure that he wants to find out what that is.

He figures he might as well pretend to play the overprotective older brother card, try and scare Stiles off a bit.

He’s surprised then, when he flings the door open, expecting to catch them in the middle of something and sees Stiles slumped on the couch, twisted slightly to one side so he can rest his head on the back of it.

The sound of the door slamming against the wall makes Stiles jump and he looks over guiltily, but to Derek’s surprise, doesn’t stand up.

“Uh, hey.”

Derek scowls at him and stalks into the room, his frown deepening when he notices Cora curled up on the couch, her head resting on Stiles’ thigh, apparently fast asleep. He also notices how Stiles has got his fingers twisted into her hair, like he’s been caught in the act of carding them through it.

“You need to leave,” Derek mutters, folding his arms across his chest.

Stiles glances down at Cora before looking back up at him, opening and closing his mouth like he can’t decide how he’s supposed to respond. After a few minutes of goldfishing, during which Derek continues to glare at him, Stiles untangles his hand from Cora’s hair and gives her shoulder a shake.

Derek watches her as she stretches and yawns, rolling onto her back and frowning up at Stiles before she looks over at Derek.

“Stiles is leaving,” Derek reiterates, pointing towards the door.

“Yep,” Stiles chimes in as he pushes at Cora until she sits up. “Leaving.”

“It’s only nine fifty,” Cora says with a frown as she checks her cell.

“He’s still leaving.”

Stiles gets to his feet and heads for the door, glancing over his shoulder at Derek as he leaves.

“So you’re throwing my friends out now?” Cora demands as they listen to Stiles clattering down the stairs. “Seems dickish. Even for you.”

“Shut up.”

“Whatever.”

She gets off the couch and storms away down the corridor to her bedroom, tapping away at her phone as she goes.

Derek glares at the couch, as though it’s the couch’s fault he saw what he did. After a few moments, he turns away and heads for his own bedroom, sitting down on his bed and rubbing his face with both hands as he tells himself he only freaked out at the sight of Cora and Stiles kissing because he doesn’t want to see anyone kissing his little sister.

He really doesn’t want to pay too much consideration to the other reason right now.

:::

Cora glances around the quiet street before letting herself into Stiles’ house: it’s not like the Sheriff is in to arrest her and Stiles is taking far too long to answer the door. As she gently pushes the door closed, she hears Stiles’ footsteps on the stairs and turns round to smile at him, a smile that quickly turns to a smirk when she notices the way Stiles has his arms folded across his chest and the grumpy expression on his face.

“I guess I should be grateful you used the door, huh?”

Cora shrugs and climbs the stairs, pushing at him when he doesn’t immediately move; after a couple of seconds, he takes the hint and turns around, heading for his bedroom, sighing loudly and pointedly as he goes.  

“Who doesn’t use the door?” She asks as Stiles kicks the bedroom door shut behind them.

“Your idiot brother.”

Cora rolls her eyes and drops into Stiles’ desk chair, swiveling it back and forth as he shuts off his Xbox before flopping down on the bed.

“How come you’re here?”

“Derek said he doesn’t want you coming over to our apartment anymore,” She sighs, picking at a sticker on Stiles’ desk as she looks around the room. It’s looking slightly more normal than last time she was in here, now the combined threats of the alpha pack and Jennifer have gone. Fewer pictures of murder victims for a start.

“What? Why?”

She shrugs and lets the very tip of one claw extend slightly to get better purchase on the sticker.

“Do you think he, um, knows?” Stiles asks, his cheeks reddening as he stares down at the carpet.

“Why would he care?”

“How should I know? Maybe he’s doing the whole overprotective big brother thing. Should I be scared?”

“You? Scared of Derek?” Cora laughs. “Yeah right. I don’t think _you’ve_ got anything to worry about there.”

Stiles pulls a face and swings his legs up onto the bed, crossing them Indian style and fiddling with the lace of his sneaker. “We’re going to ignore him, right?”

Cora grins at him and nods; she doesn’t have many people she considers friends now they’re back in Beacon Hills, not like she did for the few months they were in New York, and she doesn’t intend to have something as lame as Derek’s pissy little temper tantrum ruin that for her.

:::

Four days later, and the Jeep’s parked up outside his building again. Derek manages to successfully fight back the urge to get out of his car and kick it again but does pull his cell out of his pocket and texts Cora.

To Cora – 16:32  
Tell him to leave.

He waits for several minutes for a reply, sighing in resignation when he realizes Cora is ignoring him. He really doesn’t want to think too much about why exactly that might be.

He makes as much noise as possible as he climbs the stairs, keen to avoid a repeat of the other day but still finds himself hovering outside the door, listening out for, well anything that would suggest they’re doing anything other than sitting on the couch talking. When he doesn’t hear anything, he flings the door wide open, barking out Cora’s name before he’s even in the room.

“What?” She demands, turning round from where she’s sitting next to Stiles, who’s sprawled across the couch like it belongs to him.

“You know what.”

He nods at Stiles, not caring how obvious it might look.

“I’ll go,” Stiles mutters, shuffling forwards on the couch. He at least has the decency to look embarrassed and bats Cora’s hands away when she grabs at him and tries to stop him from getting up.

“He’s not leaving,” Cora looks away from Derek and back to Stiles, pushing him back against the couch cushions. “You’re not leaving.”

Derek glares at Stiles, who shrugs awkwardly as he pushes Cora’s arm away from his chest.

“We talked about this,” He continues, crossing the room and sitting down on the other couch, hoping that if he stares at the two of them long enough, Stiles will get uncomfortable and leave.

“No, you made unreasonable demands and I chose to ignore them,” Cora replies as she turns her attention back to the important task of painting her nails. “This is my home too and if I want to see my friends here, I will. Unless you’d rather we went to Stiles’ house and hung out in his bedroom instead…”

He’s not going to rise to it. He’s absolutely not. He’s also not going to pay any attention to the way Cora’s smirking at him or the way Stiles is fidgeting uncomfortably on the couch, like he wants to be out of there almost as Derek wants him to be out of there.

“You should let me paint your nails,” Cora tells Stiles as she holds her hand up and blows on her nails to dry them quicker.

“Um, how about fuck no?”

“Um, how about give me your hand fuckface.”

Derek grabs for a book lying on the window ledge near the couch, trying desperately to tune their conversation out. He’s just opened his book and started leafing through it when out of the corner of his eye, he sees Cora lunge at Stiles, grabbing hold of his wrist and laughing when he struggles to get free.

“God, I swear you’re worse than –” Stiles starts as he tries in vain to extricate himself from Cora’s grip before glancing over at Derek and falling silent, a guilty expression on his face.

 _Worse than Derek_ , he thinks to himself, watching Stiles as he blushes and relents, letting Cora pull his hand into her lap so she can apply polish to his nails; _worse than Derek_ , that’s what Stiles was going to say.

Stiles doesn’t leave, not for several long, torturous hours, which means Derek gets to sit and listen to him and Cora teasing each other and joking around for several hours and gives him ample opportunity to catch all the little glances they share, He’s not really sure what’s worse; the looks Cora gives Stiles when he’s not looking at her, or the guilty expression Stiles gets on his face whenever he happens to catch Derek’s eye. What he does definitely hate is the way he catches the sound of Stiles’ heart beat speeding up, seemingly in response to Cora blowing on his nails to dry the polish,

It’s torture, They’re actually trying to torture him.

:::

“Cora’s not here.”

“I know that,” Stiles tells him. “I want to speak to you, not her.”

Derek pulls a face but steps to the side and lets Stiles into the apartment anyway, watching him warily as he saunters into the lounge, wedging his hands in the back pockets of his jeans as he turns to face Derek.

“You know, don’t you?”

Derek freezes at that, keeping his gaze fixed on the window.

“Yes,” He replies, after a considerable pause.

“Cora tell you?”

“I saw you.”

“You mean you spied on us like a creepy perv?” Stiles asks incredulously. “Yep. That sounds about right for you.”

Derek shrugs unashamedly. “Maybe you should think about closing the damn door next time.”

“Yeah, because it's better to face these kinds of things with a sense of poise and rationality,” Stiles blurts out with a laugh.

“What?”

“Nothing. Never mind. Look, no offense, but it’s kind of not really any of your business what Cora does,” Stiles tells him angrily. “She’s eighteen. She can do what she wants.”

“And it’s my apartment,” Derek replies. “I can decide who’s allowed in there and who isn’t.”

“And you don’t want me here,” Stiles clarifies, his expression shifting from mulish to slightly hurt.

Derek just nods in response, turning away when he sees Stiles’ expression fall further.

“Fine. Message received. I won’t step foot in your stupid precious apartment ever again. Happy now?” Stiles snaps.

Derek doesn’t reply, doesn’t even turn around when Stiles goes to leave, wrenching the door open and letting it slam back against the wall, denting the plaster. He looks from it to Derek for a moment before storming away down the hall without so much as a backwards glance.

He definitely wouldn’t pick happy to describe how he’s feeling right now.

:::

Stiles catches Derek staring at him sometimes, on the odd occasion that he happens to be in the same place as him. The staring is pretty damn weird, although not as weird as the expression that Derek gets on his face when he’s doing the aforementioned staring.

What’s weird about the staring is that Derek never looks like he’s angry with him particularly, which given that Derek generally looks like he’s angry with the entire world, is odd.

No. What’s really weird is that Derek frequently looks sad almost. Like he feels sorry for him, or perhaps even pities him. Which isn’t just weird, but is also kind of insulting.

:::

Derek’s napping on the couch when Cora gets home and she purposefully fumbles her throw as she tosses her purse towards the coffee table, sending it skittering across the floor and making Derek jerk awake.

“Really?” He demands when she grins at him.

“Guess what I did today?”

“I don’t care.”

“Stiles and Isaac taught me how to play lacrosse,” She continues, pushing Derek’s feet out of the way so she can sit down on the couch. “Did you know Stiles bruises like a peach?”

“I don’t care,” Derek repeats as he gets up and walks away from her.

“And he bitches for _ever_ when you accidentally hit him in the face with the stick thingy as well,” She continues, raising her voice as Derek heads into the kitchen. There’s a few minutes silence followed by a smashing sound and she gets to her feet, wandering through to see what Derek has broken this time.

“Seriously?”

Derek turns around, scowling at her as he drops pieces of a shattered earthenware mug into the trash.  “I dropped it.”

“No, you broke it. Are you planning on getting over this sometime soon?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Is that right? So I can tell you what we did after we played lacrosse?”

She smiles to herself as Derek turns away, staring straight ahead at the frosted glass window.

“No.”

Before she can say anything else, Derek has stormed past her and out of the room, and a few minutes later, the building.

She knows that Derek knows about what happened between her and Stiles, but getting treated like she’s done something terrible is really starting to bug her. It’s gotten to the point where she’s honestly expecting Derek to threaten to ground her and for the life of her can’t understand why he’s so angry about it.

Quite frankly, it’s getting boring.

:::

Stiles ducks back into the drug store when he spots Derek walking down the street; as he’s peeking through the window, through a little gap between two posters, he realizes Derek is heading right into the store and rushes off to hide amongst the aisles, frowning at the unfairness of the situation. Derek doesn’t need medication: he’s got no business being in the drug store.

As he’s loitering in the aisle, not really paying attention to the products on the shelf in front of him, he catches a glimpse of leather jacket out of the corner of his eye and turns away. He’s not entirely sure why he thought he’d be able to hide from Derek of all people and is feeling pretty stupid by the time Derek comes to a halt next to him.

“Stiles.”

“Yep. That’s me,” He blurts out, cringing internally at how stupid that sounds. Derek’s glaring, his lips pursed tightly as he stares at him; after a couple of seconds, it starts to grate on his nerves.

“I’m allowed to be in the drug store,” He snaps eventually.

“Never said you weren’t,” Derek replies as he continues to scowl.

“I’m probably more allowed in the drugstore than you are,” Stiles continues, all the anger and frustration he’s felt towards Derek over the last couple of weeks bubbling up to the surface. “I actually need stuff from the drugstore,” He adds, grabbing hold of the lapel of his jacket and shaking it so Derek can hear the rattle of tablets in his pocket.

Derek looks past him, at whatever it is on the shelf behind him and as his frown deepens, Stiles turns his head to look at whatever it is that’s apparently causing Derek some kind of physical pain.

Condoms.

Of course he’s standing right in front of the condoms.

As he spins on his heel and gawps at the brightly colored boxes in front of him he’s aware that Derek is backing away from him, his scowl more thunderous than Stiles has seen it in a long time.

“Dude,” He calls out as Derek disappears around the end of the aisle. He chases after him, skidding around the corner and putting his hand out to steady himself. Derek’s already nearly at the door.

“Dude!” Stiles shouts again, not caring that people are turning to stare at him. “Dude, I’m not having sex with your little sister!”

It’s only as that last sentence slips out of his mouth, sounding unnecessarily loud in the quiet store that he recognizes not only the elderly woman at the pharmacy counter, but also the guy looking at him from over in the magazine section, who does some sort of IT support for his Dad at the Sheriff’s station.

Brilliant. Just Brilliant. 

:::

“I think Derek might hate me,” Stiles grumbles, his words slightly muffled by the way he’s got his face buried in the comforter. Scott rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to his laptop.

“What did you do this time?”

“Nothing!”

“No really, what did you do?”

Stiles sits up and glares at him, “Why do you always assume I’ve done something when someone hates me? Has it ever occurred to you that it might be Derek with the problem?”

“Sure I’ve thought about it,” Scott replies, not bothering to turn around. “But you know, I figured out of the two of you, who’s more likely to do something dumb to piss the other one off, and sorry dude, you won every time.”

“He thinks I’m having sex with Cora.”

“Are you?”

“No! God no! We’re just friends,” Stiles replies. “Only friends. And not the kind of friends who have sex together.”

“You did kiss her though,” Scott points out, swiveling his chair round; he feels a little guilty when he sees the morose look on Stiles’ face and scoots closer to the bed. “So why do you think he thinks you’re sleeping with her?”

“Because I told him I’m not!”

“How was that even a conversation you two would ever have?”

“I was, uh, avoiding him in the drugstore and he caught me vaguely lurking near the condoms,” Stiles sighs as he wraps the drawstring of his hoodie around his finger. “And you know what he’s like. He was looking all judgmental and eyebrows and stuff so I told him that I wasn’t, you know, doing that with Cora. Except I don’t think he believed me, you know?”

“How do you even end up in these situations?” Scott asks once he’s run Stiles’ sentence through his head a few times to make sure he’s made sense of it. He’s hoping Stiles’ adderall is going to kick in soon, because Stiles off his meds is hard to follow.

“Don’t know.”

Scott shakes his head and laughs, putting one foot against the bed and pushing hard, propelling his desk chair back across the room.”Anyway,” He asks as he goes back to flicking through the required reading they’ve been given for their American Lit class, “What do you care if Derek hates you? It’s not like you like him.”

“I –” Stiles starts before immediately falling silent, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “I don’t like, _like_ him but I don’t hate him anymore. I don’t anything him. I just want him to not think that I’m doing his little sister.”

Scott stifles a laugh and continues reading through his book, highlighting what he hopes are important parts of the text as he goes. He’s been fairly certain for a while now that Stiles definitely doesn’t hate Derek, and that he’s looking so distraught over the possibility of Derek disliking him has kind of confirmed that.

Not that he’s going to tell Stiles that of course. He’ll let him work that out in his own time.

“Stop hanging out with Hales,” He says eventually, hearing the little uptick in Stiles’ heart beat at the word ‘Hale’. “They both make you all crazy and angsty.” He hears Stiles move slightly, the soft rustle of cotton against cotton and doesn’t need to turn around to know that Stiles is giving him the finger.

He automatically stretches his arm out behind his back and returns the gesture.

:::

Cora keeps demanding that he comes to hang out with her, like she’s trying to prove a point to Derek.

Stiles goes, mostly because Cora’s his friend and he does really enjoy spending time with her, and despite Scott’s suggestions, not all the Hales he knows make him crazy and angsty. What he doesn’t enjoy so much is the affronted looks Derek gives him whenever he’s in the apartment at the same time as Stiles and Cora.

The more Derek glowers and grumbles at him, the more Stiles starts to think that Derek’s problem with him isn’t to do with Cora but with him personally. Which is pretty shitty, consider Cora has repeatedly assured him that Derek doesn’t actually think they were ever sleeping together.

It also sort of sucks, because the more time he spends in the apartment, the more it occurs to him that he might sort of like Derek a little bit. Which, honestly, is just inconvenient.

He kind of blames Cora for this whole mess. If she wasn’t so insistent on him hanging out at her place, he wouldn’t be having be starting to have all these inappropriate Derek related thoughts.

:::

Cora loves how much it’s winding Derek up to keep finding Stiles in their apartment; she particularly enjoys the scowl he gets whenever she touches Stiles in front of him and has to keep thinking of new ways to do just that without making either of them suspicious.

Stiles letting her paint his nails in particular seems to grate on Derek’s nerves.

Whatever. She’s not about to stop doing that; mainly because Stiles looks pretty good in black nail polish.

:::

Derek stops on the last flight of stairs, frowning when he realizes he can hear someone moving about the apartment; he knows for a fact that Cora is hanging out with Isaac tonight, having dropped her off rather than hand over his car keys.

He also knows exactly who it is in the apartment as he picks out the fading scents in the air.

“I don’t know why you think you can just let yourself into my home,” He calls out as he opens the door. “But you need to leave. Now.”

“In a minute,” Stiles tells him, matching Derek’s scowl with a stubborn glare. “I want to talk to you first.”

“Well I don’t want to talk to you,” Derek replies, keeping hold of the door handle and gesturing to the hall beyond.

“Well I’m going to talk to you anyway,” Stiles retorts, shuffling back further on the couch as he continues to glare mulishly at Derek.

Derek shrugs, letting go of the door handle and walking towards the kitchen. He sets about making himself a cup of coffee, biting back a smile as he hears Stiles counting to himself in the other room. He scrambles off the couch when he reaches thirty, appearing in the door to the kitchen.

Derek continues to ignore him, even when he crosses the room and leans against the counter beside him, standing slightly too close for Derek’s liking.  He picks up the spoon Derek’s just set down, twirling it between his fingers as he watches him intently; it’s starting to make Derek uncomfortable now. Not so much the staring, he’s used to that, but the fact that Stiles is managing to stay so quiet. He looks like he’s itching to snap or start demanding answers or call him a douchebag.

In the end, Derek moves away from the counter, pointedly not making eye contact with Stiles as he passes him.

“I know what your problem is,” Stiles says quietly, pushing off the kitchen counter and throwing the spoon he’s been fiddling with into the sink before trailing after him. Derek ignores him and comes to a halt, turning and pointing towards the open door: Stiles still doesn’t take the hint and walks straight past him, moving further into the room.

“Enlighten me Stiles. What’s my problem?”

“It wasn’t about Cora, was it? You know, the stupid banning me from here. It wasn’t exactly to do with her, right?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do. You don’t do that whole stupid ‘get your hands off my little sister’ thing. Cora told me. And so then I started wondering if you’d have been such a dick about it if it had been Isaac or Scott or someone else.”

“Of course I would,” Derek snaps, slamming his coffee mug down on the desk and ignoring the way the hot liquid slops over his hand. It’ll heal. He knows he’s blushing and turns away from Stiles, feeling annoyed with himself. At least Stiles can’t hear him lying like the others would.

“No, you wouldn’t,” Stiles persists as he gets to his feet and circles round to stand in front of him; he at least has the decency to keep a reasonable distance between the two of them. “Because it’s not really a Cora thing at all. And you can keep pretending that it is if you really want to, but I know the truth.”

“Whatever you say,” Derek sighs in what he hopes is a nonchalant way.

“Can I just ask one thing?” Stiles mumbles, looking down at the floor as he scuffs the toe of his sneaker against it. When Derek doesn’t immediately reply, he looks up and takes a deep breath, as though he’s steeling himself for the worst. “Was it because _she_ was kissing _me_?”

Derek watches him for a long minute before he replies.

“Yes.”

He doesn’t wait for Stiles to reply, just turns away and walks out of the apartment, rushing down the stairs when he hears Stiles call his name.

:::

Stiles is lying face down on the couch and flicking idly through the channels when he hears a knock on the door. He doesn’t move, having already decided earlier that he can’t be bothered dealing with people today. He figures if it’s someone for him, they can text him and if it’s someone for his Dad, well, they can go away and come back later.

He flicks over yet another cooking show, with yet another irritating host and scowls when whoever it is knocks on the door again, more insistent this time.

By the time the third knock comes, he’s gone from annoyed to irate and storms into the hallway, yanking the door open as he runs through various angry remarks in his head. His words die on his tongue however, when he realizes it’s Derek standing on the front porch.

“What?”

“Can I come in?”

“If I tell you no, are you going to climb through the window anyway?”

“Probably,” Derek replies with a shrug and the faintest hint of a smile.

Stiles pulls a face before reluctantly moving to one side to let him in; Derek takes an awkward step towards the den before he seems to realize that Stiles isn’t moving and instead ends up hovering near the door while Stiles sits down on the stair case and glares up at him.

“What do you want?”

Derek frowns at him for a moment, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans while he searches for an answer. “I don’t know.”

“So let me get this straight,” Stiles sighs, “You drove all the way across town to my house but you don’t know why?”

“Looks that way.”

“Were you coming to tell me why you were a jackass the other day?”

“No.”

“You sure about that?”

“Very,” Derek huffs.

“Well maybe that’s what you should talk to me about,” Stiles suggests, staring down at the threadbare rug beneath Derek’s feet.

Derek pulls a face and turns away to stare into the lounge, like looking at Stiles is too difficult. After an incredibly awkward couple of minutes, Stiles decides to bite the bullet and ask Derek the one thing that’s been bugging him for the last week.

“Why’d you run away?”

Derek shrugs and shuffles awkwardly. “I thought that was obvious.”

“If it was obvious, would I really be asking you why?” Stiles scowls at him as he sits down on the stairs and folds his arms.

“I’m not going to get in the way of you and Cora,” Derek mumbles.

“Of me and Cora what?”

“Whatever’s going on between you two. I’m not going to get in the way of that, OK?”

“Um, OK? But just so you know, there isn’t anything going on between me and Cora. We’re just friends.”

“Stiles, I saw you kissing her,” Derek huffs, like Stiles needs reminding. Stiles can’t quite hold back the humorless laugh that bubbles up inside him, even when Derek frowns at him and glances towards the door like he’s thinking of running again.

“Yeah, I kissed her,” Stiles starts, pulling his hands upside the sleeves of his hoodie and hugging his knees against his chest. “Just out of interest, when you were being Creepy McCreeperson and spying on us, how much did you see?”

“More than I wanted to.”

“Dude, it lasted for like, a minute tops. And then we both realized how weird it was and it stopped. It’s not like we’re carrying on some massive secretive relationship behind your back.”

Derek looks up at that, not quite able to hide the hopeful expression on his face and that seriously gives Stiles’ butterflies in his stomach, to the point that he has to look away.

“Wrong Hale,” He says quietly after a long pause.

“What?”

“Cora. She’s, um, not the Hale I like.”

“Peter?” Derek asks with a raised eyebrow; Stiles is about to open his mouth to argue, or to be offended when he catches the tiny smirk on Derek’s face; he laughs again and bites back a sarcastic reply when Derek’s smirk turns into an actual smile.

He lets go of his legs, stretching them out and staring down at his own feet. “I think I’m going to kiss you now,” He hears himself announce, glancing up through his lashes at Derek, who nods and whispers ‘OK’.

The next thing Stiles knows, he’s pressing up against Derek, pushing him gently backwards against the front door while he fists his hands in his jacket and kisses him, tentatively at first but with ever increasing urgency as Derek wraps his arms around his waist and pulls him flush against him. Derek’s lips are kind of chapped, and his mouth tastes like raspberry peach Snapple.

Unlike the last time he kissed a Hale, this isn’t weird or uncomfortable, and a lovely, melty feeling spreads through his entire body as he feels Derek’s tongue flick against his own.

:::

From Stiles – 17:01  
 _Dont judge me._

To Stiles – 17:03  
too late. Judging you. why am I judging you?

From Stiles – 17:08  
 _I kissed Derek._

To Stiles – 17:10  
filing that under things I didn’t want to know ever. but congratulations and its about time, I guess.

To Stiles – 17:11  
why are you telling me?

To Stiles – 17:23  
you don’t get to tell me shit like this and then go quiet. Guess you’ve explained why he’s been weird all day

From Stiles – 17:23  
 _weird how? whats he doing?_

To Stiles – 17:25  
Being weird. he’s out on the balcony looking all wistful and shit.

To Stiles – 17:27  
fix it.

From Stiles -17:28  
 _how am I supposed to fix it/him? maybe he’s sulking about something else._

To Stiles – 17:29  
maybe you kiss bad….

From Stiles – 17:31  
 _you didn’t seem to be too upset about it…. ;)_

To Stiles – 17:34  
yeah, you’ve made it really weird now. later tater. x

Cora rolls off her bed and heads for the lounge, slipping through the open window and out onto the balcony. Derek looks at her questioningly when she settles herself on the wall as though he’s waiting for her to start talking. She remains resolutely quiet and just smiles sweetly at him until he cracks.

“What?”

 “What what?”

“You’re staring at me.”

“I know.”

“Know what?” Derek sighs in exasperation and looks away.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“If you say so.”

“Are you seeing how long you can go without actually saying his name?” Cora asks with a smirk. Derek might have his back to her, but she can see the way the tips of his ears are flushing and knows she’s riled him.

“That’s got nothing to do with you.”

“Why are you ignoring him?”

“I’m not.”

“Sure you are. That’s what not talking to someone is called,” Cora huffs. She jumps off the wall and cross the balcony to stand next to Derek, leaning on her elbows and looking down at the street below. “You like him, right?”

She feels Derek’s arm brush against her own as he shrugs and feels a little pang of sympathy for him when she remembers that the last person he had a relationship with was Jennifer and wonders if he’s silently freaking out about all the things that could go wrong if he tries something with Stiles.

“He won’t hurt you, you know,” She says at last, bumping her shoulder against his bicep. “Not like _she_ did.”

Derek shrugs again, but she can see the faint hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth; the idea of Derek being even a little bit happy makes her smile too and she falls quiet, following Derek’s gaze as she tries to work out what he’s looking at.

“It’s kind of weird, right?” She asks after a long moment of comfortable, companionable silence. “That we’ve both kissed him?”

Derek just scowls at her and shoves her away from him in response.

:::

“I realize I’m taking all sorts of liberties here,” Stiles mumbles sleepily as Derek lies down beside him and tentatively rests his hand on his hip. “Considering we’ve only made out once and you’ve kind of ignored me since then.”

Derek doesn’t reply to that, just squeezes Stiles’ hip gently as he watches him. He’s not blind, or stupid, for that matter. He noticed a long time ago how attractive Stiles is and he’s pretty pleased that he’s getting to lie here beside him and look at him to his heart’s content.

“That’s creepy you know,” Stiles mutters, keeping his eyes closed as he moves closer to Derek.

“What is?”

“The staring. Stop it. Say something.”

“Sorry.”

“For staring or for ignoring me?”

“You ignored me too,” Derek murmurs, letting his fingers stray under the hem of Stiles’ shirt and smiling when he shivers at the contact.

“You ignored me first?” Stiles tries, opening his eyes suddenly and smiling at Derek with such an unguarded and happy expression on his face that Derek’s breath catches in his throat. “Can we agree that we’re going to stop the ignoring thing? It’s stupid. I liked the kissing you thing a whole lot more.”

As Derek watches, Stiles scoots closer, finally closing any hint of a gap between them and tangling his ankle between Derek’s and watching him. Derek can hear Stiles’ pulse starting to race as they stare at each other and realizes that, for some reason, Stiles is waiting for him to make the first move.

Derek does just that, rubbing his thumb against Stiles’ hip as he kisses him gently, making an odd whimpering noise when Stiles nips at his bottom lip.

Stiles opens his mouth slightly, forcing Derek to do the same and flicks the tip of his tongue against Derek’s. As they kiss, it occurs to Derek that if he hadn’t spent the past week thinking he’d freaked Stiles out, he might have been able to spend his whole week doing this; instead he spent the week sitting around the apartment feeling sorry for himself, listening to Cora tutting at him every time she looked in his direction.

:::

“How did you get in?” Derek asks him some time later as the room grows steadily darker.

“Cora let me in.”

He feels Derek’s warm breath against the back of his neck as he huffs out a laugh, and shuffles back against him, feeling his stomach flip over when Derek tightens his hold on him and nuzzles his forehead against his shoulder.

“How much did you have to pay her to make her leave.”

“I loaned her my Jeep,” Stiles admits after a small pause; the last thing he’d wanted to do was hand over his keys but it had been the only thing he could think to do to convince Cora to go away for a few hours.

“You did what?” Derek demands, and Stiles freezes when he hears the note of panic in his voice.

“Um. Keys. Jeep.”

“Stiles,” Derek says urgently, and even with a sense of panic rising in his gut, Stiles can’t help but feel a happy shiver go through him at the sound of Derek saying his name. “She hasn’t got a license.”

“What?”

“Cora. She can’t drive.”

“What?!” Stiles yelps, shoving at Derek’s arms as he tries to struggle out from underneath the heavy comforter. “We have to go find her! What if she does something to my car?”

Derek doesn’t seem to understand the seriousness of the situation and just rolls onto his front, hooking one finger through Stiles’ belt loop to stop him from moving.

“Seriously Derek. You have to help me find her!”

Stiles reaches back and tries to pull Derek’s hand away, and it’s only then that he looks down at him properly and notices that his shoulders are shaking. Because Derek is an asshole and is laughing at him.

“I can’t believe you fell for that,” Derek mutters, his voice slightly muffled by the pillow, and Stiles really does pull away from him this time, turning until he can see him properly and stares down at him in amazement.

“Ooh, I’m Derek Hale,” Stiles says mockingly as he lies back down and gives Derek a swift kick in the shin, “I fucked off out of town for three months and grew a sense of humor and now I’m a huge douchecanoe! Ooh.”

“A _what_?”                                        

“Douchecanoe,” Stiles repeats, squirming when Derek nips at his ear lobe. “I hate you.”

“Mm hmm,” Derek murmurs against his neck. “Sure you do.”

Stiles scowls for a moment as Derek tightens his arms around his torso before snuggling back against him. “OK, maybe I don’t entirely hate you. Maybe I like you. A lot.”

“Maybe I like you a lot too.”

Stiles sighs happily at that and they both fall silent; it got dark a while ago, and Stiles is vaguely aware that he should probably go home at some point but he feels warm and safe here, buried under the comforter with Derek’s chest flush against his back. It’s only as he starts to think about leaving that he remembers precisely why he can’t just get up and leave.

“You were joking, weren’t you?” He asks softly as he trails his fingertips along Derek’s forearm.

“About what?”

“Cora not being able to drive. Please tell me she can actually drive.”

“I taught her while we were away,” Derek replies after a pause.

“Oh thank fuck. I was like, legitimately worried for a minute there.”

Derek hums in agreement before ducking his head and nuzzling his forehead between Stiles’ shoulder blades and murmuring “Although she did drive my car into a mailbox.”

:::

Stiles fidgets nervously on the porch as he waits for someone to answer, silently praying that it isn’t Isaac that comes to the door.

Which of course means, that when the front door to Scott’s house swings open, it’s Isaac on the other side of it. All snarky, sarcastic nine feet whatever of him.

“Is Scott home?”

Isaac nods and steps to one side to let Stiles into the house, disappearing back up the stairs and leaving him alone in the hall.

“Hey man,” Scott calls down, leaning over the banister and waving to him. “Come on up.”

“Uh, can we go out someplace?” Stiles asks awkwardly. “I need to talk to you about something.”

“Sure,” Scott replies, disappearing back in the direction of his bedroom. Stiles pulls his cell from his pocket while he waits and sends a quick text to Derek.

To Derek – 11:39  
Its ok if i tell scott about us, rite? x

From Derek – 11:42  
 _sure. Why wouldn’t it be?_

To Derek – 11:43  
thought you mite not want people knowing yet is all. x

From Derek – 11:46  
 _stop being paranoid. Can I see you later? x_

To Derek – 11:47  
fuck yes!!! x

Scott jumps down the last few steps and lands beside him, giving Stiles a strange look as he hastily shoves his cell back in his pants pocket. “You look like you’re going to be sick. What’s up?”

Stiles just gestures towards the door, following Scott outside and clambering into the Jeep.

They drive in silence for a while as Stiles runs through various sentences in his head, trying to decide how he’s going to tell Scott his big news; he’s convinced that Scott is going to flip when he finds out and wants to avoid as much drama as possible. None of what he comes up with sounds right.

“I’m seeing someone,” He blurts out as he comes to a halt at a red light.

“OK?”

“I just – I’ve been seeing them for a little while now and wanted to tell you,” Stiles continues, sending a glance in Scott’s direction.

“Is it Cora?” Scott asks, twisting in his seat to look at Stiles properly.

“What?”

“The person you’re seeing. It’s Cora, right? All that stuff about being just friends with her was a lie, right?”

“No,” Stiles replies carefully as he accelerates, taking a sharp left turn and heading towards the mall. “It’s not Cora. We really are just friends. Definitely just friends. Plus, um, she’s kind of the little sister of the person I’m seeing.”

He sneaks another look at Scott, watching as he picks his sentence apart and makes sense of what he’s just told him.

“You and Derek?” Scott asks at last. Stiles looks away from him and nods, flicking his fingernail against the pad of his thumb as he waits for Scott to start complaining, to start telling him what a terrible person he thinks Derek is, how Stiles is making a horrible, terrible, no good decision.

“Cool.”

“No he’s –” Stiles starts, glaring at Scott when he realizes what he’s just said. “What do you mean, cool?”

“I mean cool,” Scott shrugs. “What do you want me to say? That I hate him? I don’t. And you’ve liked him for a while, right?”

Stiles just nods dumbly; right up until that moment, he’d been happily laboring under the misapprehension that his crush on Derek was obvious only to him. Clearly he was wrong.

“Did you really think I was going to be a dick about it?” Scott asks, a hurt expression on his face.

“Kind of. Sorry.”

“Yeah, well, you can buy my dinner as an apology,” Scott laughs, punching Stiles in the arm before turning around to grab for the CD wallet on the back seat. Stiles smiles at the back of his head as he flips through it, offering muttered opinions on the collection of CDs; even though he sees less of Scott these days than he used to, he’s pretty glad he can still talk to him about stuff like this and it not be weird between them.

“Don’t you have any new CDs?” Scott grumbles as he pulls one out of its plastic holder. “These are the ones we made when we were fourteen.”

That doesn’t stop either of them from singing along and the tops of their voices as they speed down the highway towards the mall, arguing the whole way about what they’re going to eat.

:::

They quickly settle into an easy little routine, during which time, Stiles finds out all sorts of interesting new things about Derek. Like how he likes his toast done so dark that it’s almost burnt, or how he hates cilantro because according to him, it tastes like soap. Or how if he thinks no one is watching, he’ll have seven and a half sugars in one cup of coffee.

Stiles takes to spending most afternoons after school at the loft, mainly stretched out across Derek’s bed and attempting to do homework while Derek lies beside him and does his best to distract him from said homework; if it’s not his warm fingers constantly slipping under Stiles’ shirt to stroke across the small of his back, then he’s nuzzling against his neck, his almost-beard prickling at Stiles’ sensitive skin.

Most of the time Derek’s attempts at distraction work, but also leave him painfully hard, because Jesus Christ, Derek might just have magic fingers.

Stiles doesn’t really know what to do with that. Well, that’s not entirely true. He knows exactly what he wants to do, just has no clue how to bring that up with Derek given what little he knows about Derek’s past relationships.

He spends a lot of time jerking off in the shower when he gets home.

:::

Derek likes their little domestic routine. He likes that his bed always smells of Stiles. Likes that Stiles has claimed one of the mugs in the kitchen as his own, although he hasn’t told Stiles that it’s _his_ favorite mug and doesn’t like having to use any of the others when Stiles is around.

He’s pleased that the sheriff, or John as he keeps insisting Derek call him, is surprisingly OK with them dating. Derek had started having all kinds of paranoid fantasies of shotguns and wolfsbane bullets when Stiles had told him he was going to tell his Dad about them. He’s vaguely aware of there being conditions imposed by John on the two of them, but Stiles enthusiastically ignores them and for the life of him, Derek can’t remember what those conditions are.

He’s never had a happy little domestic routine with someone before, and has definitely never been approved of by someone’s parent before.  

He likes it.

:::

“You know how long we’ve been together now?” Stiles calls through to Derek as he busies himself with making coffee.

“Six weeks?” Derek calls back, listening out for what Stiles is doing. It sounds like he’s rolling off the couch and padding around the room, probably looking at whatever books Derek has strewn across the coffee table and floor. He glances over his shoulder towards the door through to the lounge before turning back and throwing another spoonful of sugar into his coffee.

“Right,” Stiles replies, his voice louder this time. Derek glances over his shoulder again and smiles when he sees Stiles leaning against the door frame. “Which means you should probably stop pretending that you don’t take eighty million sugars in your coffee.”

Derek scowls at him, handing him a steaming cup of coffee when he comes closer before taking a sip of his own. It’s not sweet enough for his liking, but he feels like adding more sugar at this point would be admitting defeat.

“Seriously though,” Stiles continues as he sets his mug of coffee down on the counter and reaches for the sugar. “So we’ve been together for six weeks, right? 42 days-ish?”

“Yeah?”

“So, um, are we ever going to, you know?” Stiles mumbles as he drops another spoonful of sugar into Derek’s coffee and passes him the spoon.

“Ever going to what?” Derek asks slowly, although he’s got a good idea of what Stiles might be getting at.

“Sex,” Stiles mutters, his cheeks coloring deliciously, “Is something we haven’t done. But you know, could. Um, if you want to.”

Derek takes a sip of his coffee, watching Stiles over the rim of the cup; he’s fidgeting awkwardly with the zipper on his jacket, his own coffee still abandoned on the side and Derek feels a huge rush of affection for him and grabs for him with his free hand, pulling him into a hug so he can trail the tip of his nose up the side of Stiles’ neck and breathe in his comforting scent.

“You don’t think it’s a bit soon?”

Stiles stiffens at that and pulls away from him slightly, a hurt expression on his face. “Do you think that?”

Derek watches Stiles for a moment while he thinks about what he’s asking. “No,” he admits at last. “But other people might.”

“Fuck what other people think. It’s none of their business,” He scowls, stepping back into Derek’s personal space again and bumping his hip against Derek’s. “You want to?”

He sounds nervous, and Derek turns his head to look at him, taking in the blush on his cheeks and the way he’s chewing on his bottom lip as he avoids his gaze. After several long minutes of being watched in silence, Stiles looks up and meets his eye at last. It’s only then that Derek smiles softly at him and nods his head.

Before he really has time to think about what’s happening, Stiles is kissing him urgently, his fingers scrabbling at the button fly of Derek’s jeans. Derek goes with it, moaning hungrily into Stiles’ mouth as he pops the buttons and slips his hand down the front of his underwear, palming his cock experimentally.

Derek bites down on Stiles’ bottom lip, a little harder than he means to as he rocks up against Stiles’ hand, desperate to get more friction than Stiles is currently giving him.

“This OK?” Stiles asks, pulling back from their kiss slightly and looking Derek in the eye; Derek nods hurriedly, wrapping his hand around the back of Stiles’ neck and pulling him close again. Stiles laughs against his lips, curling his fingers around his cock and starting to jack him slowly and surely.

It takes an embarrassing short length of time for him to come, digging his fingers into Stiles’ shoulder as he cries out, streaks of white streaking up Stiles’ charcoal gray shirt.

Stiles kisses him through the aftershocks, finally letting go when Derek whimpers into his mouth and lets him tuck himself away again.

They eventually gravitate towards the couch, Stiles slumped against Derek’s side as they talk quietly. Derek smiles into Stiles’ hair when he catches him grinning down at his t-shirt for the third time, like Derek’s come stains are a badge of honor.

:::

Cora covers her nose and mouth with the sleeve of her hoodie and backs hurriedly out of the kitchen, crossing the lounge and banging hard on the window to get Derek’s attention.

“Seriously?” She demands when he clambers back through from the balcony, flicking her eyes in the direction of the kitchen. Derek shoots her a mutinous glare and heads for the couch, ducking his head like that will hide the blush on his cheeks.

“What?”

“You know what. Look, I don’t care what you do with your boyfriend –”

“He’s not –” Derek interrupts, his blush deepening as he industriously avoids Cora’s gaze. “Stiles doesn’t like labels.”

“Stiles doesn’t or you don’t?”

Derek just shrugs in response, his arms moving, seemingly automatically, into their customary folded tightly across his chest position.

“Look whatever. I don’t care what you and your _Stiles_ do in here, but really Derek? The kitchen? People have to make food in there! How I am supposed to fix a sandwich in there now knowing that you’ve let Stiles jizz all over the place?”

“It wasn’t St–” Derek starts, before turning an even deeper shade of red and snapping his mouth shut.

“You know what? No. Give me your wallet,” Cora demands, stepping closer to the couch, her arm outstretched. Derek frowns, and does what he’s told, presumably too confused to argue. It’s only when she pulls it open and extracts three twenties that he reacts.

“Hey!”

“Don’t you hey me,” She snaps, shoving the bills in the back pocket of her jeans. “If I can’t fix myself dinner in our kitchen, I’m going to go get takeout. And seeing how it’s your fault I can’t fix my dinner, you can pay for my damn dinner.”

She grabs her jacket from where she’d abandoned it, shrugging it on as she watches him. “I’m glad he makes you happy, you know.”

Derek looks up and gives her a shy smile at that, “Thanks.”

“Just please do something about the kitchen. I don’t want to have to smell how happy either of you are when I get back.”

:::

“Cora called you my boyfriend yesterday,” Derek murmurs against his neck as he shifts slightly; the new angle making Stiles moan deliciously as they rut against each other.

“Yeah?” Stiles lifts his legs a little higher, wrapping them around Derek’s hips and pulling him close. “That bother you?”

Derek shakes his head, taking his weight on one elbow and working his other hand down between them to wrap his hand around both of their cocks, inhaling sharply at the feeling of Stiles’ cock sliding against his own, both of them slick with pre-come.

“So am I?” Stiles gasps a few minutes later; Derek looks down at him, shivering at the sight of the red flush covering his chest as he arches his back and thrusts up into his fist.

“Are you what?”

“Your boyfriend.” Stiles’ words come out in a rush, his breath hot against Derek’s damp skin.

“You want to be?”

If Stiles replies, Derek doesn’t hear it because it’s lost amongst Stiles cursing and moaning his name as he comes, spilling hot over Derek’s hand. Derek follows a few seconds later, gasping as Stiles bites down hard on his shoulder.

“Thought you didn’t like labels,” Derek says sometime later when they’re lying in Stiles’ bed, limbs tangled together because it’s really too small for two people. Derek doesn’t mind that, the bed being too small. It just means that he has to press up close to Stiles or risk falling off the bed.

“I like them just fine when it’s you labeling me,” Stiles replies, giving him a noisy, playful kiss on the cheek.

Derek may or may not blush at that.

:::

To Derek – 19:01  
you know how you said sex is something you want to do? With me?

From Derek – 19:03  
 _Yes…._

To Derek – 19:04  
whens that happening then? Xx

To Derek – 19:06  
& more importantly, where?? my bed is too small, cora’s always at yours. i don’t want to lose my virginity in your fuck ugly car…. :P xx

From Derek – 19:08  
 _We’re not having sex in my car_

To Derek – 19:09  
yeah, that was sort of my point…

From Derek – 19:11  
 _Your bed isn’t that small….we’ve done other stuff in it…. x_

To Derek  19:13  
I guess

To Derek – 19:13  
you wanna come over now? my dad is down at the station til midnight ;) xx

From Derek – 19:15  
 _I can’t. Cora made me drive her to the mall. she wants to watch a movie. wish I could come by and see you…_

To Derek – 19:16  
:( tell your terrible sister she’s made me and my dick sad now

To Derek – 19:18  
actually don’t tell her about my dick…that mite be weird.

To Derek – 19:20  
tell her i'm going to swing by the grocery store near your place and tell that creepy old checkout clerk she’s all hot for him >:D x

From Derek – 19:24  
 _you’re weird. Which, by the way, isn’t a good thing. Stop thinking it is._

To Derek – 19:25  
I’m fucking awesome and you know it. Tell her! Xx

From Derek – 19:27  
 _No. can I call you later? X_

To Derek – 19:30  
Boo. you suck! And yes please :D xx

From Derek – 19:32  
 _maybe I do suck. I do swallow tho x_

To Derek – 19:34  
did you just make a blow job joke? :o x

From Derek – 19:35  
 _:)_

To Derek – 19:36  
sorry, I have to go and jerk off now at the thought of that. Nngh! Xx

Stiles throws his cell phone down on the bed and flops down beside it, hurriedly shoving his sweatpants low on his hips and pulling his t-shirt up to expose his stomach. It takes no time at all for him to come, so hard and fast that he leaves himself slightly breathless. He lies still for a moment to catch his breath before snatching up his cell and impulsively snapping a photo of his softening cock and the small pool of come on his stomach. He quickly sends it to Derek before he has a chance to change his mind, pushing himself off the bed and heading towards the shower.

When he returns to his room, he checks his phone to see a series text from Derek.

From Derek – 20:01  
 _I hate you :( xx_

From Derek – 20:02  
 _I’m at the movies. That’s just cruel x_

From Derek – 20:02  
 _just because of what I said? really?_

From Derek – 20:04  
 _I don’t have to delete that, right? X_

From Derek – 20:09  
 _Saturday? at my place? Cora’s going back up to NY for the weekend. Xx_

Stiles feels himself starting to get hard again at the thought of that and after a moment’s hesitation, pulls aside the towel he’s got wrapped around his waist and takes another few pictures to send to Derek.

:::

Stiles is nervous. That’s the overwhelming feeling that immediately hits Derek in the face when he opens the door to him. It’s made worse by the way Stiles is trying to pretend he’s not nervous; he’s practically vibrating from the effort of not fidgeting and Derek thinks it must be kind of painful, the way he’s clenching his jaw so tight.

“You’re allowed to breathe,” He says with a small smile as he steps aside to let Stiles into the apartment.

“Yeah, I know,” Stiles replies, brushing past him and making a bee line for the couch. “Just, you know, kind of a big deal.”

“Doesn’t have to be.”

He sits down beside Stiles, reaching for his hand and gently coaxing him to unclench his fist so he can link their fingers together. Derek loses track of exactly how long they sit there, stroking his thumb over the back of Stiles’ hand as he listens to his heart rate starting to return to something approaching normal, watches some of the tension start to leave his shoulders.

“What if I do it wrong?” Stiles asks quietly, scooting forward slightly so he can comfortably rest his head on Derek’s shoulder.

“You won’t,” Derek replies, turning his head so he can press a kiss against the top of Stiles’ head.

“Yeah but what if it gets to right before we, you know, do it and I get all ‘oh my holy fucking god, that’s Derek’s ass’ and just come all over you or something.”

Derek snorts at that and squeezes Stiles’ hand a little tighter. Eventually, Stiles seems to get bored of being nervous and twists around in his seat slightly, trailing the fingers of his other hand up the inseam of Derek’s jeans a couple of times before leaning close and brushing a fleeting kiss against his lips. Derek lets go of his hand and catches hold of the front of his shirt, pulling him in for something altogether more urgent and hungry.

:::

“Promise you’ll tell me if I do it wrong?” Stiles asks between soft moans as Derek kisses the back of his neck as he walks him towards his bed.

“You’re not going to do it wrong.”

“I might,” Stiles grouses, running his hand along Derek’s forearm. “Which is why you should tell me because you’ll know if I’m doing it wrong and I won’t have a clue and you realize how much that would suck?”

Derek rolls his eyes and spins Stiles around, kissing him brusquely before pushing him down on the bed. Stiles grins up at him, tugging off his hoodie and tossing it aside as he scoots backwards just enough to allow Derek to straddle his legs. Before Derek has a chance to move, Stiles is fisting his hands in the front of his shirt and dragging him down on top of him as he lays back. Derek makes a noise of protest, or at least attempts to, but it’s quickly cut off by Stiles licking into his mouth. He knows he’s smaller now than he was back when he left Beacon Hills all those months ago, barely spent any time working out while he was in New York, but he still feels uncomfortable lying on top of Stiles like this, like he might be too heavy for him, might be hurting him in some way. Stiles clearly isn’t worried about that and hooks his ankles around the back of Derek’s thighs, pulling him closer and grinding up against him.

“And you won’t be mad if I come too soon?” Stiles asks when they finally break apart, both of them breathing heavily.

Derek shakes his head, rolling off Stiles and lying down beside him, his hand splayed across Stiles’ chest.

“We’re really going to do this,” Stiles continues, turning onto his side and moving closer to Derek.

“Only if you want to.”

Derek wants to, wants more than he can ever remember; he wonders briefly if he should tell Stiles that he’s nervous too, that this is the first time he’s been with anyone since Jennifer, or Julia, or whoever she really was. Thinking about her and about whatever it was she did to him to make him act the way he did makes him feel sick though and he pushes those thoughts aside because this, with Stiles, is different. For a start, he’s here because he wants to be, because he trusts Stiles, because there’s the huge and slightly overwhelming feelings he has for Stiles, the ones he really doesn’t want to examine too closely because they scare him a little. He shakes his head as though that will help clear away all the thoughts fogging up his brain and regards Stiles for a minute. “You do want to, right?”

Stiles grins, rolling his hips and biting back a moan as his half hard cock brushes against Derek’s own. “Hell yeah I do!”

:::

Derek fists his hands tightly in the comforter when Stiles finally pushes into him, slowly and cautiously like they’ve got all the time in the world; he feels much bigger like this than he does in Derek’s hand or mouth. It doesn’t hurt, but there is a slight ache there that promises to give way to something better. Stiles is muttering and cursing above him, and makes an odd noise, something approaching a sob, when he finally bottoms out,

“Holy Jesus fuck,” Stiles gasps, bracketing his arms on either side of Derek’s head and staring down at him; Derek lets go of the comforter sliding his hands up over Stiles’ ass and back before gently pulling him down and kissing him softly.

“Move,” He whispers when they finally break, his breath mingling hot with Stiles’ own, “Please?”

Stiles is still giving him a bit of a rabbit caught in the headlights look so Derek resorts to rolling his hips experimentally; that at least seem to do the trick as Stiles starts to move, his thrusts a little erratic and awkward. It still feels good to Derek and he hooks his ankles around Stiles’ thighs, moving slightly to change the angle and gasping when the head of Stiles’ cock brushes across his prostate.

“That was a good noise, right?” Stiles asks breathily, his movements faltering slightly as he waits for Derek to respond.

“Yeah,” Derek sighs as he pulls Stiles in for another bruising kiss, taking the opportunity to snake his hand down between them so he can jack himself in time with Stiles’ thrusts. It’s a little difficult to match his rhythm mostly because Stiles doesn’t really seem to have any form of rhythm. It still feels good, mostly because it’s Stiles inside of him watching him cautiously in case he does something wrong. He likes how much Stiles cares about him, how he wants to know he’s OK with this.

All too soon for Derek’s liking, Stiles starts to mutter in his ear about how he’s close, lifting himself up and off Derek slightly so he can fuck him harder; Derek worries at his bottom lip as he takes in the thin sheen of sweat covering Stiles’ skin, finding himself transfixed by a droplet moving slowly down the side of his neck and lifts his head to lick at it as it reaches the hollow of Stiles’ throat. That, or the hickey he promptly sucks just beneath Stiles’ collarbone seems to push him over the edge and Derek flops back against the pillow, watching as Stiles goes stock still and comes with a loud groan. Although he can’t actually feel it, the thought of Stiles’ coming inside of him pulsing hot and filling him up is all Derek needs to follow suit, screwing his eyes tight shut as he spills into his own hand, whispering Stiles’ name as he comes.

After a moment catching his breath, he reaches up and tangles his come-free hand in Stiles’ hair, pulling him down and kissing him lazily. Stiles moans happily into his mouth, biting down on Derek’s bottom lip when he moves his other hand to the small of his back, smearing come across his skin.

“That’s pretty gross,” Stiles murmurs into their kiss. “Trying to make me smell like you?”

Derek doesn’t answer that; he’s preoccupied with the feeling of Stiles’ cock slipping out of his ass as it softens, a little rush of lube and come following it

It leaves him feeling frustratingly empty.

:::

Stiles shifts into a more comfortable position; he smiles to himself as he feels Derek tighten his hold on him momentarily.

“Not going anywhere,” He murmurs sleepily, in what he hopes is a reassuring tone of voice before he turns onto his side and wedges one cold foot between Derek’s warm calves.

“Good.”

Derek sounds like he’s still half asleep, and Stiles opens his eyes, hoping to sneak a peek at him. Only Derek’s already beaten him to that, watching him through half lidded eyes, a faint smile playing across his lips which widens when he notices Stiles looking at him.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself.”

“So,” Stiles continues as he slides his hand under the pillow and tangles his fingers together with Derek’s. “We did that. The sex thing.”

Derek just nods and gives his hand a gentle squeeze.

“I wasn’t really terrible was I?”

“You’re amazing.”

“At sex?” Stiles asks, feeling a blush creep across his cheeks. “Or just in general?”

“Shut up,” Derek replies; it’s not a malicious shut up – Stiles has heard a lot of those from Derek in the past. It’s more of a dopey ‘shut up Stiles, I can’t think straight right now’ sort of shut up. Stiles likes that, likes that he’s made Derek sound sex-dumb.

“Nuh-uh. You can’t go taking that back. I’m amazing, you said so.”

“Mmm,” Is Derek’s only response as he closes his eyes, squeezing Stiles’ hand beneath the pillow. After a few minutes of what some people might consider slightly objectifying staring, Stiles closes his eyes as well, sighing happily and trying not to think too much about how there’s dried come smeared across his back and that they’re both kind of gross right now.

He likes being kind of gross when it’s Derek who’s made him kind of gross.

:::

Derek sometimes wonders if it’s normal to argue as much as he and Stiles do; he doesn’t really have much basis for comparison, having never been in a ‘proper’ relationship before.

Yesterday’s argument had been, initially, how giraffes are no one’s favorite animal and that Derek was wrong for suggesting that.

Whatever. At least his favorite animal isn’t a giant, smug guinea pig.

He’s vaguely aware of the concept of capybaras; thinks he might have seen one once when he went to the Bronx Zoo with Laura. She’d growled softly at a tiger, waking it up; it had started pacing around it’s enclosure, roaring and swiping at the thick glass separating it from them, much to the great amusement of a group of children nearby.

When he tell Stiles, who it turns out has never actually seen a capybara in real life, it rapidly dissolves into another argument about how Derek is pronouncing capybara wrong.

“It’s ‘cappy-bara’,” Stiles had crowed. “Not ‘capey-bara’. Cappy. Like, um, Cappy America.”

“No one calls him that,” Derek had snapped back.

“Iron Man would.”

“We are not having this discussion.”

“Um, yes, actually, we totally are,” Stiles had retorted, grabbing hold of the back of Derek’s hoodie to stop him from walking out of the lounge.

Thankfully, the argument had been cut short by Cora storming out of her room and announcing that she was going over to hang out with Scott and Isaac because she didn’t want to have to listen to their _ridiculousness_ any more.

That argument is also how Derek had found out that there’s a _famous Capybara_ on the internet. Called Gari. Short for Garibaldi Rous. Derek has no idea how Stiles knows this sort of thing, doesn’t particularly want to know.

Derek wonders if Stiles realizes that sometimes he’s being contrary just because he likes to watch Stiles get all riled up, likes to see his cheeks flush red when he gets annoyed.

He’s fairly certain Stiles argues with him for similar reasons.

It’s probably not normal.

:::

Cora rolls her eyes as she walks into the loft; as much as she likes that Derek and Stiles are together now, that they’re both happy, she really wishes she didn’t have to look at them being all happy and domestic all over the couch whenever she comes home.

“Ask Derek what he used to call me,” Cora grins as she perches on the arm of the couch, rolling her eyes at the way Derek shifts uncomfortably.

“What did you used to call her?” Stiles asks obediently, dragging his fingers through Derek’s hair. “I’m guessing it wasn’t something nice, right?”

“We’re not talking about this,” Derek snaps as he props himself up on his elbows; Stiles makes a sad little whimpering noise when he moves, and to Cora’s amazement, Derek immediately drops back down to rest his head on Stiles’ thigh again, although he does at least have the decency to look a little embarrassed.

“Tell me,” Stiles wheedles.

“Yeah Derek, tell him.”

“No.”

“Fine, I’ll tell him,” Cora replies, batting Derek’s foot away when he kicks at her. “He used to call me _the accident_.”

“Once,” Derek barks. “I called you that once.”

“He called me it loads of times,” Cora tells Stiles over Derek’s head. “When he thought I couldn’t hear him.”

“Once,” Derek repeats, sitting up and this time, ignoring Stiles when he makes a noise of complaint. He pushes Cora’s shoulder, a little rougher than he perhaps should have done, making her wobble on the arm of the couch.

“Aww, were you jealous that you weren’t the baby once she was born?”

“Shut up,” Derek grouses, glaring at Stiles over his shoulder.

“That’s exactly what it was,” Cora crows, springing off the couch when Derek goes to push her again; she scampers around the coffee table, sitting down on the other arm of the couch so Stiles is in between her and Derek. “Laura kicked his ass and he cried.”

As she watches, Stiles shuffles forward, slipping his arms around Derek’s waist and resting his chin on his shoulder. “Did you really cry?”

“I was twelve” Derek grits out. “And I did not cry because of Lau.”

“Oh yeah,” Cora replies, stretching her leg out and pushing Stiles, and by extension, Derek, with her foot. “You cried because Mom yelled at you for a half hour straight, right?”

Derek’s face does it’s increasingly infrequent closed off snippy thing and Cora realizes she’s pushed him too far. That just because she can easily talk about Laura, and their parents and Joseph and everyone else doesn’t mean Derek can.

He pulls Stiles’ arms away from his waist and storms out of the apartment without so much as a backwards glance at either of them.

:::

Derek appears in Stiles’ bedroom at five after midnight.

“Sorry,” Stiles murmurs into Derek’s hair when he slips into bed beside him, wrapping his arm around Stiles’ waist and hiding his face against his chest.

It’s a long time before Derek says anything, and it takes all of Stiles’ patience not to start asking questions. Instead, he just cards his fingers through Derek’s hair and worries at his bottom lip to distract himself from fidgeting.

Eventually, when stiles has just about reached the point where he can’t stand the silence any longer Derek starts talking, telling Stiles in a quiet, halting voice about, well, everything.

Hearing Derek’s version of events about what happened to Paige doesn’t really surprise Stiles if he’s honest. Damn near breaks his heart to hear Derek’s voice cracking as he tells him how Peter manipulated the entire situation how the resulting emotional fall out of Paige’s death left him all the more vulnerable to Kate Argent and her advances, but doesn’t surprise him. And that truly leaves Stiles feeling sick, hearing about Kate and what she did to Derek, because he can so clearly see himself back in the hospital, screaming in Derek’s face about his _psychotic ex-girlfriend_. He tries and fails to find the right words to apologize but in the end just stays quiet, hugging Derek as tightly as he can while he pours his heart out.

It’s only when he feels a tear trickle down his cheek that he becomes aware that Derek is crying too, his shoulders shaking slightly as Stiles wraps his arms tightly around them.

“Stay?” Stiles whispers into Derek’s hair some time later. He doesn’t really care that he’s breaking one of the few conditions his Dad imposed on them when he first told him about his relationship with Derek, just knows that right now, he really doesn’t want Derek to be on his own. Derek doesn’t answer, but Stiles takes the brief tightening of his arm around his stomach as agreement and slides down the bed slightly until he’s able to look at Derek.

It’s not long before he starts to feel sleepy, his brain making feeble attempts to point out that he needs to make sure Derek’s out of the house early tomorrow, before his Dad wakes up, for preference.

“Stiles?”

“Mmm?” Stiles mumbles, keeping his eyes shut as he feels Derek’s hand slide up his arm, his fingers brushing lightly across his cheek bone.

“Think I might be falling in love with you,” Derek murmurs sleepily, his breath warm against Stiles’ face.

Stiles feels his own breath catch in his throat at that and he opens his eyes hurriedly to see Derek watching him through half lidded eyes, a hint of blue just visible in the darkness.

“Same,” He replies after a pause, pressing a soft kiss against Derek’s parted lips, his bottom lip catching between Derek’s own.

:::

They have sex again that night, all hushed whispers and bitten off moans, because Stiles’ Dad is in the house and neither of them particularly want to wake him up with what is technically a felony for another two and a half weeks. Not that Derek’s planning on having noisy sex with Stiles in his Dad’s house the minute he turns eighteen.

Derek clings tight to Stiles as he comes, shaking slightly as he grabs at his shoulders, tries to pull him closer. Tries, and fails, to kiss him as he’s overwhelmed by his intense orgasm, to the point that the only sound that comes out of his mouth is a broken sob.

Stiles whispers his name urgently as his grip on Derek’s hips tightens, his eyes going wide as he thrusts up once, twice more before going still as he comes, his gaze fixed on Derek’s eyes and his mouth hanging open in surprise.

They kiss lazily as they come down from their respective orgasms, tangled together under Stiles’ comforter. Derek doesn’t really care that there’s come drying in the line of hair up his stomach, or that he can feel Stiles’ come starting to leak out of his ass and that that’s going to make his side of the bed uncomfortable real soon. He just wants to stay here in the warm little cocoon that is Stiles’ bedroom, with Stiles’ arms wrapped tight around him, feeling safer than he has in years. Feeling loved.

:::

He’s more conscious of what he says to Derek after that night, more aware of Cora teasing him while he glares disapprovingly at her.

Eventually, Derek starts to open up to him a little more, sharing little anecdotes about his family when Stiles least expects it; some of it is things Stiles has already heard from Cora, other things are new, and Stiles mentally squirrels them away, will mention them in conversation if he thinks Derek’s in the right place to hear it. He’s getting better at judging just when that is. Derek always looks pleasantly surprised when Stiles does make reference to things he’s told him about his family, like he doesn’t expect him to remember, or associate it with whatever they might be doing or talking about at the time.

“Are these the ones your Mom used to make?” He asks Derek one day, nibbling around the edge of a cookie, the cookies he and Derek have spent the afternoon baking. He’s fully aware of just how corny it is to be baking together and doesn’t care. Whatever. He’s having a great time. “The ones you told me about?”

Derek nods, raising an eyebrow at the flour smudges on Stiles’ shirt.

“I don’t remember cookies,” Cora chimes in from where she’s sitting on the kitchen counter, drumming her heels against the cupboard. “When did Mom bake cookies?”

“Back before Arianne moved in,” Derek replies after a pause.

Stiles watches as both Derek and Cora’s expressions darken momentarily. He’s knows Arianne was Peter’s wife, that she died before the fire ever happened. Derek doesn’t mention her often, and Stiles assumes that that’s because talking about Arianne reminds him of Peter and he’s still a sore spot for both Derek and Cora.

“Arianne made _the best_ cookies,” Cora sighs wistfully, snagging another cookie from the cooling rack and snapping it in half. “I bet Mom made these better than you,” She adds, grinning impishly at Derek.

Derek shrugs, and for a minute, Stiles worries he’s about to shut down but he rallies, leaning over and wiping a smear of chocolate from Stiles’ bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. “Sure they were,” He starts, sticking his thumb into his mouth and sucking the chocolate from it. “But mine are better than Lau’s ever were.”

Cora rolls her eyes at that, muttering a ‘yeah right’ under her breath as she devours the cookie in her hand, Derek watching her fondly the whole time.

Stiles is vaguely aware that he’s grinning stupidly at the pair of them and doesn’t care, because Derek arguing with Cora about Laura and how she wasn’t quite the image of perfection Cora has built her up to be in her mind is a massive step for Derek.

:::

Stiles tells him he loves him on a daily basis. It’s slightly overwhelming, and scares him a little at first. It’s been a long time since someone told him they loved him and meant it, and although he feels the same way, most definitely feels the same way, he finds it hard to say it back sometimes because his traitorous brain likes to remind him that the last person he said those words to was Jennifer. That always leaves him with a bitter taste in his mouth because it was never his decision to say that to her, because whatever tricks she used on him took that decision away from him.

Stiles seems to understand that, and doesn’t usually push Derek to say it back when he tells him he loves him, although he does have his occasional stroppy moments where he pouts and snaps about how maybe he loves Derek more than Derek loves him.

Derek privately thinks it’s not humanly possible, or werewolfly possible for that matter, for anyone to love someone more than he loves Stiles. He gets scared sometimes by how in love with Stiles he is, despite all the stroppiness and the pouting.

If he’s honest, he kind of loves the stroppiness and the pouting too.

:::

Two days after Stiles’ eighteenth birthday, Derek tops for the first time. Not just for the first time with Stiles apparently. For the first time ever.

Of course, Derek doesn’t tell him that until afterwards and Stiles kind of wishes that he had, because it might have explained away some of Derek’s nervousness and the fact that he’d dumped nearly half a bottle of lube up Stiles’ ass.

Stiles would have preferred a lot less lube, because he’d have actually liked to feel Derek, not just feel the slightly uncomfortable pressure when he pushes inside him and  whole lot of gross, squishy lube.

Derek admits afterwards, after he’s come and jerked Stiles off because he just couldn’t seem to get off while Derek was inside him; admits that he was terrified of hurting Stiles and may have panicked slightly.

The second time round is roughly a million times better, there’s less lube for Derek to use this time and Stiles can properly feel the head of Derek’s cock grazing his prostate. He definitely likes that. Like really likes it. Likes it so much he comes all over his own stomach without Derek having even touched his cock.

:::

Scott wants to talk to him. Scott always wants to talk to him these days. It’s something of a departure from what Derek had grown to expect from him. Ironically, now Derek is no longer an alpha, Scott respects his opinion and actively seeks him out for advice and support.

“Look,” Scott’s saying, leaning back against the side of his motorbike, “You don’t have to get involved in this –”

Derek’s not really listening; he’s too busy watching Stiles, who’s sitting with Lydia in the front seat of her car, laughing hugely with her. It always ignites a small spark of jealousy deep within him when he sees Stiles with Lydia, even knowing that Stiles is no longer interested in her, and more recently, and interestingly, how she smells more and more like Scott. That’s not something he’s prepared to bring up with Stiles and figures that whatever’s happening between Scott and Lydia, Scott’ll tell Stiles in his own time. Personally Derek thinks Scott’s making a far better decision with Lydia than he ever did with Allison, and worries that at some point, one of them is going to have a conversation with Isaac about that and the risks of being that involved with a hunter. He’s really hoping that little task will fall to Scott.

“Derek.”

He looks back at Scott and realizes he’s supposed to be giving his opinion on Scott’s worries that there’s _something_ out in the preserve.

“It’s fine. I’ll help.”

Scott starts talking again, and Derek finds his attention wandering again, wandering in the direction of Lydia’s car. This time however, Stiles is looking up at him, a small smile playing across his lips as he nods and ‘uh-huhs’ at what Lydia is telling him. Derek wonders if she’s realized yet that he’s paying her no attention whatsoever, if it’s come as a shock to her that Stiles no longer hangs on her every word.

“You’re a fucking dick.”

Derek spins around to see Cora standing beside his car, her arms folded tightly across her chest and a scowl on her face.

“Excuse me?”

“Remember how you were going to meet me at the laundry place and give me a ride home? Not hang out at the strip mall with your boyfriend like a creepy loser? Ringing any bells?”

“Umm,” Derek starts, glancing over at Scott who’s plainly trying to hold back a laugh.

“Never mind umm,” Cora snaps, marching over to where they’re standing and digging in Derek’s jacket pocket for his car keys. “Gimme.”

He grabs hold of her wrist, yanking her hand none-too-kindly from his pocket. “No. You can wait. I’m busy.”

“Yeah, busy being a dick,” Cora grouses, twisting her hand out of his grip and looking over to where Stiles and Lydia are still sitting in her car, watching the pair of them with smirks on their faces. Out of the corner of his eye, Derek sees Lydia wave to her, hears her cut Stiles off as she reaches for the door handle.

Cora and Lydia’s friendship still baffles him. Lydia is the last person Derek would have expected Cora to become friends with, but evidently, they kept in touch while he and Cora were out of town, and although they could hardly be described as best friends, Lydia always goes out of her way to talk to Cora when they see each other.

He’d never admit it to any of them, but he’s pretty happy it’s Lydia that Cora gets on with rather than Allison, because for all Stiles and Scott and Isaac repeatedly telling him how they all trust her, that she’s _on their side_ now, he still can’t quite bring himself to trust her, can’t help but notice the way she looks and sounds like Kate when she laughs, how she occasionally gets this calculating look on her face that terrifies him.

He turns his attention back to Scott again as Cora starts chattering with Lydia, not really caring what they might be talking about. Stiles isn’t far behind her, insinuating himself into Derek’s personal space, arms sliding round his waist and nudging up and under the hem of his shirt as he rests his chin on Derek’s shoulder.

He surreptitiously presses a kiss against the back of Derek’s neck, presumably when he thinks none of the others will notice.

:::

Stiles pinches Derek’s stomach when he starts to challenge Lydia about…something. He’s sure if someone asks, he’d be able to remember eventually what it was Lydia was talking about, but it might take him a little while. Running his fingers up and down the line of hair on Derek’s stomach seemed far more important.

He wonders if Derek is aware of how antsy he gets around Lydia, like he’s got anything to be jealous about. Sure, he likes Lydia, likes being her friend much more than he ever liked lusting after her from afar. He doesn’t even think about her in _that way_ anymore, and hasn’t for a long time. And well, if she happens to show up in his dreams occasionally, well, there’s not a lot he can do about that, and if that’s a certain _big idiot’s_ basis for acting like a jealous tool, then he needs to start getting jealous of Stiles talking to Scott’s Mom and the guy that works in Trader Joes as well. And if he’s honest, Scott. And very occasionally, Allison. Hell, all of them together that one time. Whatever. Not his fault what happens in his dreams.

 _Big Idiot_ doesn’t seem to realize that right now, and his snapping at Lydia is starting to get embarrassing. Unfortunately, pinching Derek’s stomach, followed by nipping at the back of his neck does nothing to stop him from griping and complaining. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Cora rolling her eyes and ducks his head to hide a grin against Derek’s back.

Lydia’s expression darkens, and she folds her arms tight across her chest, pursing her lips and turning her full attention on Derek, getting ready to unleash some torrent of verbal abuse on him.

“Hey,” He interrupts suddenly, feeling Derek flinch because he’s being too loud right next to his ear. “Did I ever tell you guys about the time Derek thought I was having sex with Cora?”

 It’s probably not the best thing to say, because now Cora’s glaring daggers at him, and Derek’s getting huffy and trying to deny that he ever thought that.

At least no one’s arguing now.

~ fin ~

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://the-misfortune-teller.tumblr.com/), yo.


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